


Apologies and epiphanies

by CynSyn



Series: Is This The World We Created? [1]
Category: Good Omens, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Feels, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Anguish, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Alternating, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), POV Third Person Omniscient, Pining, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Slow Burn, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-04-24 12:45:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19173559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynSyn/pseuds/CynSyn
Summary: After the trials in Heaven and Hell, Crowley fills in some missing information for Aziraphale.





	1. Was It All Worth It

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at this. I hope I did the tags right.

The night after the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t, an angel and a demon sat in the back of a bookshop. It had been quite a draining weekend for them both. Aziraphale couldn’t help but think about how much harder it must have been for Crowley than he first realized. While being inconveniently discorporated was rather, well, inconvenient, it was nothing in comparison to what Crowley experienced. Crowley had asked him to go off together twice, and twice was rebuffed, even after explaining that Hell was coming for him, specifically.

And still he came back again.

Aziraphale poured himself a glass of wine. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, after emptying half of it in one deep drink and topping it off again.

“Clever people often do, I’m told,” Crowley grinned into his glass as he took a drink.

“I’m being serious here. I… I don’t really know how to do this, but after everything, I owe you this. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like less.”

Crowley sat up, his voice softening. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Aziraphale was flustered.

Crowley half-grinned, cocking his head to the side. “S’alright, Angel. Take your time.”

“That right there. That’s part of it. But there’s so much more. You’ve been so patient with me. Even when I refused to go away with you multiple times.”

“Not that patient. As I recall, I made a bit of a scene on a busy sidewalk the second time.”

“And you still came back a third time.”

“Of course I did. I wasn’t going anywhere without you.” His voice sounded so gentle and small.

“But I wasn’t there.”

He exhaled sharply. “No, you weren’t.” His eyes clouded.

“I’m sorry.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“But it was, in a way.”

“In what way?”

“If… If I had gone with you.”

“Angel, don’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” He looked at Aziraphale, pleadingly. “It’s too much.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t want to.”

“But I _need_ to.”

“You want to know? You _really_ want to know?” He hissed.

“Please, it’s important to me,” he whispered.

“Well, it’s a good thing I can’t deny _you_ , then, isn’t it? Fine. I came for you again and saw the flames. I ran in to save you, to protect you, because that’s my purpose in life, and I couldn’t find you. I thought you were destroyed! I thought you were dead and I’d never see you again. The last thing I ever said to you was that I wouldn’t even think about you!” The visceral panic was present in his voice. “Which was a lie, because you’re all I think about. The last thing I ever said to you was an angry lie that I could never atone for.”

“Oh, Crowley… I---” Aziraphale's eyes widened as he imagined what it would have been like to have seen the bookshop on fire. Crowley was inside of it. _He thought I was destroyed_.

“I would never see you again! And it wasn’t like you would still be _somewhere_. I thought you were destroyed. There was no point in running away anymore. There was no point in anything anymore. The only consolation I had was knowing that the war was coming. I didn’t know who did it, and I didn’t care. I was going to sit in that bar and drink until Armageddon, and when the war began, I was going to take out as many on both sides as I could before someone destroyed me.”

Aziraphale was silent.

He emptied his glass and poured another. “And none of that was your fault.” He sniffed, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand before continuing. “And when I found out you weren’t really gone, I had to hurt you, twice more. I had to tell you your precious bookshop burned down. Once in the bar, and then again at the bus stop when you had forgotten.”

“That wasn’t your fault, either.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he grunted. “Still happened, didn’t it?”

Aziraphale paused for a moment, trying to process everything. “You… You were going to get yourself killed.”

“Along with anyone else I could find.”

Aziraphale gasped.

“Oh, relax. Everything else was going to get destroyed. As far as I knew, _They_ killed you. All of them. _They_ wanted their precious war, and I was desperate to oblige. It was probably going to happen anyway at that point. That’s how Armageddon generally works.”

“You aren’t making this easy.”

“I’m not trying to.” He growled into his glass as he took a drink.

“Could you stop being so demonic and---” He caught himself. “I’m sorry.”

“What for _now_?”

“For calling you a demon.”

“I _am_ a demon.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale thought back to the trial in Hell, when he wore Crowley’s face. “But it occurs to me that you don’t _feel_ like a demon.”

“But I _am_ a demon,” he repeated softly, looking away.

“Does it hurt?”

“Does what hurt?”

“When I say it. When I call you...”

“Oh, Angel,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. He let out a softly staggering breath before he continued. “In the beginning, it thrilled me in a way unlike any other being could. It was a challenge to live up to, to encourage, to surpass. You fascinated me. You were like coming up for air. It was an incredible feeling, being able to breathe again after drowning in boiling sulfur for so long. Even your irritation was addictive. I would have done anything for another taste.”  
  
“Then it became an excuse, a reminder of the reason for you to keep me where you needed me. Tethered, but never taken in. No matter how much I did to show you my love, I would always be a demon. But I gladly would have spent an eternity sitting outside of Heaven’s door just to feel your presence near.”

Aziraphale couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Eventually, it turned into shame. The shame that comes from knowing one’s place, and knowing it is as low as the belly of a serpent. And mixed within, anger. How dare I love you? How dare I risk your happiness, just to satisfy my own? I knew, I always knew, that you had more to lose. I had already lost everything. Everything except you. Then it became penance. The price I would gladly pay to worship at your feet for as long as you would allow me.”

The angel’s eyes began to sting as an uneven breath racked his chest.  

Crowley began to think about his time in Heaven, when he wore Aziraphale’s face. “But after seeing Heaven through your eyes, I felt such incredible sorrow and regret.”

The angel opened his mouth to respond when Crowley gently took his face in his hands, tilting it up. Aziraphale wouldn’t open his eyes. He didn’t think he could survive seeing the emotions he could hear in the demon’s voice as he spoke.

“No, you don’t understand,” Crowley continued, his eyes wide, searching Aziraphale’s face for the strength to continue. “I regret that _I_ didn’t understand before now. You had no idea. All this time, you never realized…” His voice trailed off as he looked down. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the words he needed to say. “You couldn’t know how much I loved you, because you’ve only ever been given cruelty wrapped in a golden ribbon of gilded guilt. And _they_ , “ he spat the word out as if it were bile, “convinced you that you deserved it! That it was right and good and of course you didn’t know! How could you ever believe that I could have shown you the love you deserved when you’ve been so starved of love and kindness by all of Heaven itself?”


	2. Under Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories of the last hours before the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't from (mostly) Crowley's perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not sure how many updates to do here. I have an idea of what I want to do, but as I write, it adapts. The goal is to get the internal perspectives from both of them.

Crowley sat in repose on the couch in the back of the bookshop. The swinging pendulum of the wrath of Heaven and Hell still hung overhead, ever-present, ever-looming. It had retracted just enough to allow them room to stretch a bit. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he was able to relax, privately, just the two of them, and reflect on everything. It was the second time he had been inside of the bookshop since it had burned down. He desperately needed to tamp down the memory of before. The best way to do that, he thought, was to engage all of his senses in creating a new memory. Running a finger delicately along the rim of the glass to coax out a gentle song, he slowly swirled the liquid around, taking care to notice the coolness of the glass in his hand, delighting in the heady aroma of the wine as he watched an angel flit about the room.

_Aziraphale!_

His breath quickened.

_I can’t find you!_

He tightened his grip on the glass.

_You’ve gone._

He closed his eyes, trying to dissolve the pervasive thoughts into the Ether by dint of will.

_Somebody killed my best friend!_

The glass shattered in his hand.

“Oh, dear!” Aziraphale exclaimed, rushing over. “What happened?”

“Got distracted. S’ fine.”

“Oh, goodness. At least let me clean this up for you,” he said as he waved his hand over the broken mess.

Crowley looked up at him and smiled, gently. There was a certain weariness to his expression. He had hoped Aziraphale wouldn’t notice.

“Let me get you another drink,” the angel said, rushing off to fetch it. Crowley gave another small smile as he accepted the replacement.

 

Aziraphale was worried about Crowley. He seemed… _different_ , somehow. _I wonder why that is_ , he thought, mockingly, to himself in Crowley’s voice. The past few days had been previously uncharted territory. It had been quite a draining weekend for them both.

 

“I’ve been thinking,” Aziraphale spoke, slowly turning around.

Crowley quickly brought his glass to his face in an attempt to hide, his usual defensive grin seeming ineffective. What he wouldn’t give for his sunglasses right now. “Clever people often do, I’m told.”

“I’m being serious here.”

Good, he hadn’t noticed. Perhaps the angel would assume his current expression was an attempt to respect his wishes.

Watching an angel, _his_ angel, flutter about awkwardly had been his own personal delight for thousands of years. Oh, how he loved the tease! The back and forth, pulse-quickening waltz between the Devilish and the Divine. It was endearing, and always brought a genuine smile to his face. He clung to that feeling, cherishing it, as they continued to speak of patience, of possibilities, and of passion.  

Passion is fiery and messy. It consumes.

_I lost my best friend._

His eyes clouded.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said.

_You were dead. You couldn’t help it._

“I’m sorry.”

_Stop it._

“I don’t understand.”

_I can’t take this._

“But I need to.”

_I’m on my knees all over again, Angel. The flames are growing. Please, have mercy upon me. Release me from this memory. Let me be. Let me love you and put this behind me! Oh, how I hate this! It burns. You burned. You burned me. You burned. I was hurt. You burned. I was cruel. You burned._

“Please, it’s important to me.”

Something inside of Crowley snapped.

_You burned you burned you burned. I loved you and you burned._

The heart is the fruit. In love, it can become sweet, like wine. In turmoil, it is sour, like vinegar. Intensity, like heat, can purify and protect, or it can expand and destroy. Bottled turmoil under pressure will explode, sending acrid, stinging glass shrapnel out in all directions.

The words came pouring out, hard and fast, unbidden, unrelenting. He had felt shame over the things he said the last time he saw Aziraphale out on the street, before - _You burned you burned you burned_ \- and did not wish to burden the angel with the guilt he knew would manifest. He didn’t want to speak the words, but couldn’t stop the deluge of truths any more than he could stopper a shattered bottle.

He was a demon, after all.


	3. Let Me In Your Heart Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale tries to figure things out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working this out as I go. It might go a few days between updates, or maybe a couple in a single day. I'm getting back into the habit, and trying to figure out the best way to go.
> 
> The chapter title comes from this song and the lyrics. https://www.songfacts.com/lyrics/queen/let-me-in-your-heart-again

Aziraphale couldn’t quite place the source of the feeling, but something felt out of sorts. Looking around, everything seemed the same as it had been, and yet so different. As was his wont, he did not care for change, especially not so imperceptibly. If he knew what was different, he thought, certainly he could take control of it, as was his way. He could sort it away into the proper place as if it were a book on a shelf. He had been doing this for such a long time, of course, and was quite good at it.

He wondered if it might have something to do with this new bodily corporation. He had spent 6000 years in the previous body, after all. Perhaps it was like slipping into a new pair of custom-cobbled shoes or a proper coat. A perfectly-imperfect fit that would take time, and effort, to stretch and form into something uniquely pliant and familiar.

_Surely, that’s all it is_ , he decided. He had all but convinced himself of this when he was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of broken glass.

He turned around to see Crowley, sitting exquisitely still. He was clutching a jagged piece of glass in his hand, broken bits of glass glinting in his lap. A thin ribbon of dark red snaked down from his palm, staining the glass. His eyes were more fiery than usual, yet somehow hollow. It was as if he were looking through Aziraphale, to see something behind him.

It wasn’t until Aziraphale spoke that he stirred.

“Got distracted. S’ fine.”

Aziraphale knew better. Something was very wrong.

_I wonder why that is,_ he imagined Crowley would say.

_Crowley_ , he thought. _Crowley is what is different_.

He had to do something. He needed to fix it. He owed Crowley so much. All he needed to do was to figure out the problem. Surely, he could get it sorted away.

“I’ve been thinking,”

“Clever people often do, I’m told.”

Aziraphale wasn’t fooled by Crowley’s attempt to hide behind his new glass, but humored him as a kindness.

They had spent an eternity together. Crowley, weaving in and out, back and forth, serpentine twining around the very threads of Aziraphale, forming a rich and tightly-woven tapestry in the colors a lifetime.

In the span of a fluttering heart and the breadth of an angel’s wing, he ruminated on just how He was always somehow there, as if by some Divinely comedic mandate. Crowley was a constant. He was a stability. He was a comfort.  Why hadn’t he seen this before?

_I suppose I had,_ he thought to himself _. But perhaps I’ve taken him for granted_. The slightest raise of an eyebrow or the flutter of an eyelash placed the demon squarely in the palm of the angel’s hand. _He would probably pluck the very stars from the sky were I to gaze upon them fondly enough_.

Aziraphale suddenly felt flush with chagrin. _I’ve been so horrible to him and I never even considered it. He was right. Right about everything, and I didn’t listen. I refused him. I hurt him. And he came back. And I refused him again, and I hurt him again._

“I wasn’t going anywhere without you.”

_I should have trusted you._

“Angel, don’t.”

_I have to fix this._

“It’s too much.”

_Just tell me what is wrong so I can fix it. I needed you and you came for me, but I wasn’t there. Ask me again and I’ll go anywhere with you._

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as Crowley spoke, his heart simultaneously ablaze and in ashes.

_He thought I was destroyed._

 Aziraphale didn’t want to think of how he would have felt had the situation been reversed. The thought was too much.

_“Angel, don’t. Don’t. It’s too much.”_

Aziraphale felt sick _. What have I done?_ He felt such pangs of guilt, responsibility, and something else he hadn’t quite recognized yet.

“You aren’t making this easy.”

“I’m not trying to.”

_Anger_ , he thought _. I’m angry. That selfish bastard was going to go on a rampage with the ultimate goal of getting himself killed in my name, and he’s being so damned flippant about it!_

“Could you stop being so demonic and---” He caught himself. “I’m sorry.”

He shouldn’t have said that. Especially not now. Especially not after being in Hell himself. Crowley wasn’t like the other demons. He had kindness and understanding. He had consideration and integrity. In that moment, Aziraphale remembered a conversation from long ago. _“It'd be funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one.”_

It really wasn’t fair. Crowley didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve any of that. Crowley Fell only by the strictest of technicalities. Truth be told, he himself had done so much more wrong. He didn’t like thinking about it, but it was true.

“But I am a demon,” Crowley spoke in a voice that seemed far away.

_I did that. I made you feel that. I’m sorry. I am ashamed. I know that now._

“Does it hurt?”

_I’m so sorry._

“Does what hurt?”

_Me. I keep hurting you. I’m sorry. I love you._

“When I say it. When I call you...”

_Forgive me. Love me. Absolve me of my sins._

“Oh, Angel.”

_Make me clean._

 

 


	4. Hammer to Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale repents

Aziraphale was stricken. How could he think such thoughts? Praying to anyone but Her for absolution was blasphemous, let alone a demon. Surely he would be struck down at any moment for such thoughts. And he would deserve every bit of it. He could imagine faces of Heaven looking down on him, as always, full of pity at how far away from the Divine he truly was. They had tried to warn him. Even before, when there was no suspicion of doubt over the nature of his relationship with Crowley, they worried. They wanted what was best, of course, and they loved him enough to keep his best interests in mind. The greater good. How could he have drifted so far from grace?

“Even your irritation was addictive. I would have done anything for another taste.”

_Crowley_ , he thought. _That old serpent tempted me. He lured me with his wiles. They were right. I have been tempted and found unworthy._

“No matter how much I did to show you my love, I would always be a demon.”

Love? What does a demon know of love? _Haven’t I fallen far enough?_ Even Lucifer himself had ceased in his temptations of Heaven.  

“How dare I risk your happiness, just to satisfy my own? I knew, I always knew, that you had more to lose.”

How very dare indeed. _You knew! You knew what you were doing to me, and you continued._ The angel eddied in suspicion, confusion, and despair _. Even now, now that I’ve turned my back on Heaven and have nothing left but Earth, you persist in this. If ever you had the capacity, even if…_

Mercy isn’t a demonic grace any more than love is. How odd it was, then, that an angel would even consider it. _Hope springs eternal in the human breast_ , one of his favorite poems invaded his mind _. Man never is, but always to be blest._

_Who sees with equal eye, as God of all,_  
_A hero perish or a sparrow fall,_  
_Atoms or systems into ruin hurled,_  
_And now a bubble burst, and now a world._

He trembled.

_Our proper bliss depends on what we blame._

The breath that had been trapped in his chest begged for release.

_All nature is but art unknown to thee,_  
_All chance, direction which thou canst not see;_  
 _All discord, harmony not understood;_  
 _All partial evil, universal good;_  
 _And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,_  
 _One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right._

Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to search the eyes of his friend, his adversary, his torment, and his delight for answers to the ineffable questions he didn’t understand. His shameful disgrace prevented him from doing so.

Everything was too fast. Always too fast. Aziraphale, rarely moving forward, always falling behind, struggled to find the understanding behind the words he couldn’t form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the response to the previous chapter where Aziraphale does something so out of character that it shook him. I had considered putting both halves into the same chapter, but I wanted that separation in tone.
> 
> There are excerpts from An Essay of Man, a poem by Alexander Pope.  
> https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/An_Essay_on_Man


	5. Love Of My Life

Crowley watched as Aziraphale’s expression continued to change. _What have they done to you, Angel?_ He thought. _You can’t see how wonderful you are. Open your eyes. Please._

He hated how Heaven had treated Aziraphale, particularly that smug bastard, _Archangel fucking Gabriel_. They treated him as less and taught him to fear. Hell couldn’t compete with that level of psychological torment. All Aziraphale ever wanted to do was to love them and be loved by them. But as much as he hated them, he pitied them. He pitied how they had the brightest, warmest, most radiant and divine light in all realms occult and ethereal, and tried to snuff it out. If they only knew the light they tried to extinguish, they might have realized how much darker the whole of existence would be without it.

Crowley sometimes wondered if the angels had loved Aziraphale as they should have, would he have been able to fit so perfectly inside of the scorched hole where Crowley’s own heart beat? He didn’t like thinking about that for too long.

_Love of my life, angel divine. What must I do to heal you, to protect you? I can’t stand to see you like this. Please, please look at me. What can I do? I couldn’t save you then, but I have to save you now, now that we’re here, together. Blessed Hell and Heaven be damned!_

“Angel,” he spoke with the quiet reverence and devotion of a pilgrim. “My angel. I am not perfect. I never will be. But I have loved you. I have loved you in ways that have made me more whole than any being, occult or ethereal, could ever deserve.” He paused for a moment, searching Aziraphale’s face for a sign that he was getting through to him. “I would go, have gone, through fire to take on all of Heaven and Hell to bask in your warmth and grace. I would gladly go to the ends of the universe to protect you from harm. And I would stop all of time just to stand by your side.”

He placed his hand on the angel’s face. “And I know you would do the same for me. After all the times I had found you, your light found me at my lowest and stood by my side at the end of the world. No one else, in all of history or existence, has ever made me feel,” he gestured around, searching for some word, _any_ word, other than, “ _Good_.”

A tear escaped from Aziraphale’s eye. Crowley’s thumb gently traced it along the angel’s cheek. “My beautiful, broken angel. Can’t you see how our pieces fit together, now more than ever before?”

Aziraphale pressed his face into Crowley’s hand, but did not open his eyes.

“Please, Aziraphale,” he kissed the angel’s forehead. “Please look at me.”

“I don’t know if I can.” Aziraphale was overwhelmed.

Crowley cupped his face in both hands, repeating, “I love you,” punctuated by gentle kisses of desperation and supplication across Aziraphale’s eyelids. “I pledge this to you. I am yours. I have always been yours. I will always be yours, unconditionally. I am your champion, your love, and your friend. All that I am belongs to you to do with, or not, as you wish.”

He closed his eyes with the solemnity of a prayer and spoke in an almost imperceptible whisper, “Please love me.”

Aziraphale realized his heart and his breath were stopped. With a stridorous gasp, his heart started beating. The sudden influx of emotions, both internal and external, forced his eyes wide as he searched wildly for an anchor, lest he become swept away.

It hit him so fast. He was scared of losing himself. It wasn’t like this with his books. Books kept pace with him. He could pick them up and put them down as needed. Books didn’t outpace him. He could go back over a passage for better clarity to make sure he didn’t miss anything. He could take notes and take time. They didn’t take him out of his comfort zone. It was safer.

Safer? A book didn’t make him safe. It was just a means to escape. That wasn’t safety. What could possibly be safer than being with Crowley? And why hadn’t he accepted that he was _already_ being protected, and had been for the last 6000 years?

The angel’s eyes met with the familiar golden eyes of the demon, locking. _Of course I love you,_ they tried to say. _Yes, I do love you and I have known for quite some time now. I believe I’ve loved you for even longer than that. I’m so sorry I gave you reason to question this. I have been a coward, and I am sorry. By the grace of your love, I pledge to try harder, to do better, to BE better. I accept you as you are and offer myself in return. I adore you. I love you._

His voice betrayed him, unable to form the words he longed speak. All he could manage was a hoarse, yet wholly sincere, “I do.”

And he did, and it was enough.

The weight of several thousand years seemed to lift from Crowley’s shoulders. He was silent. He closed his eyes to let it wash over him, to heal him.

It was then that the name of an angel fell upon the lips of a demon, and the angel found his way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around.  
> <3


End file.
